For All That We Are
by Dim Aldebaran
Summary: A Hermione Granger & Lord Voldemort drabble collection. Dark & deep. Many linked drabbles that function as oneshots. Currently posted: on the theme of Joan of Arc, on the theme of victory, and the difference between power and soul.
1. Jeanne d'Arc

**F O R  
A L L  
T H A T  
W E  
A R E**

- Dim Aldebaran -

_A Hermione Granger & Lord Voldemort Drabble Collection_

* * *

J E A N N E

d' A R C

**:i:**

_Domremy_

_We fight the Shadow_, Harry's mantra runs, _we fight the Evil._

_And what light casts the Shadow_? Hermione asks him.

But the blind man is lost amongst the material excesses of his wrath, and he cannot answer for that which he cannot see, that which he cannot understand.

Hermione is the only of them to remove her blindfold:

_They struggle against shadows of themselves,_ she realizes_ and in the process they have become the shadow they think they fight against…_

She leaves in the bright of day.

Her shadow is long between the gates of Hogwarts.

**:i:**

_Chignon_

Hermione comes to him in the night.

She allows herself to be taken: and some, considering past transgressions against their pride, take her for themselves. As they force screams from her throat, she can only think of that which the light inevitably casts.

Only when she can no longer scream do they bring her before him. Though she still bleeds, she stands, and as she looks into the eyes of the Lord she smiles.

Voldemort speaks, and those that sought to stoke their material desires fall, and their shadows are eased from their presence.

She kneels before him. "My Lord."

**:i:**

_Orléans_

Voldemort is amused by her: but Hermione did not come to merely amuse.

She takes his blessing and his men—the former for glory, the latter for fame—and they come upon London in the uncertain eve.

The shadows are cast long and sharp against the scarred walls of the Ministry by the light of battle magic, and in this curse-light she sees faces, uncertain of what they fight but knowing it was _evil_, each and all.

When there are no more lights but the uncertain sun, Hermione stands alone on the battlefield, watching souls evanesce from their mere causes.

**:i:**

_Reims I_

Hermione kneels with the others: knees folded into subservience, hands clasped behind her.

But alone amongst them, her eyes are raised to Voldemort as he ascends to the throne.

She is not dressed as them: she does not glimmer as those bright-shiners in their ebony and gold, and yet all eyes are drawn to _her_ at this Ministerial coronation: downcast, demure, declaring what deceit would come for her own ascension—

—but Voldemort's eyes are upon her as he seats himself upon his throne.

…_my Lord Voldemort…_

Hermione kneels with the others, but she has no illusions about where she stands.

**:i:**

_II_

Voldemort releases her from her childhood: through his mind she begins to understand that this is more than mere blood, more than mere magic: more than a throne, more than an empire, more than even her Lord—

And _after_…

They are not slaves to such pleasures, however inevitable the nights become; nor to the rational horrors that await them outside of their private world of perfect wonders.

At times, they cannot even separate thought from action, abstract from material, perception from sensation.

And after?

When apart, she cannot bring herself to complete faith in her Lord, for all their words.

**:i:**

_Paris_

Her thoughts of glory inevitably turn to thoughts of pride, and thoughts of pride turn inevitably into actions of arrogance.

He does not caution his cavalier, and allows her this imperfection as an act of mercy.

They fight by the noontime sun: it bleaches all but the twisted faces of her former comrades from her mind, it burns all but the cries of dying schoolchildren from her soul.

And as she falters, so do her men: they flee into the Forest, and she prays that it is more forgiving than her Lord as the shadows shelter them from the light.

**:i:**

_Burgundy_

For a time, she does not understand: but the actions turn to memories, sensation to perception, and the old ascension is there once more.

In these times she feels more keenly the beauty of Voldemort's mind, and the sweetness in such complete understanding of another.

That sweetness will be there forever, she knows: that sweetness will be there as long as she lives.

With this in mind, she allows herself to be taken by the inevitable: and by this, she will take the inevitable and make it her own.

Only he will understand; and that is sweetness beyond the flesh.

**:i:**

_Rouen I_

Hermione takes her tea in time with her trials.

She keeps it close, the steam curling up in careless wisps before her.

They'd ask her questions, blunt, stupid questions: questions of loyalty, questions of deeds, questions of motive...

…and she'd take to her tea, musing: _to think_ _that I had killed for them, before_…

They would redden, they would scream, and they would offer her things for an answer: not merely acquittal but security, fame, _wealth_…

As if she cares for such things anymore.

They'd ask her questions, blunt, stupid questions: and she'd smile, and she wouldn't say a word.

**:i:**

_II_

There are no dementors, no ready wands: demoralized, the masses require a spectacle to continue on.

…and as she is led to the pyre she looks to the stake, and as she is bound to the stake she looks skyward.

He watches, and he smiles: and as the flames begin to caress her, she smiles back.

He is not their Messiah, he is their Prophet: he is not their savior, he is a stepping stone to more…

…and as the flames engulf her, there are screams, but they are not her screams.

Hermione is something more than a mere inferno.

* * *

This drabble collection will consist of challenge responses for the hp100 livejournal group. In this, I consistently post in the name of Ravenclaw (against all the appeal of Slytherin...) These will also be used for drabbles100 prompts, another livejournal group. And I always post my personal thoughts and such on each drabble on my personal livejournal, if that sort of thing interests you, though anything that isn't recent might take a little digging to find. This collection should be updated every week or so. 

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Saeriel for introducing me to this delicious pairing, and to both her and Nallasariel for encouraging me to continue on with it. So, merci beaucoup and all that jazz to them. (If interested, Saeriel and I are cowriting a Hermione Granger-Lord Voldemort-Artemis Fowl crossover novellength, _The Rapunzel Complex_.)

As a general note, I will simply _adore_ you if you can feed me some constructive criticism, whether specific to a particular drabble, or in general. Just telling me that something is 'good' or 'bad' isn't helpful. If you can supply reasons, and perhaps even strike up a dialogue with me about it, I would be eternally grateful. I do take constructive criticism very seriously, and as an obvious consequence I will take it into consideration in later revisions and in later drabbles.

**:i:**

This first set of drabbles are for the hp100 challenge of 'material' and the respective drabbles100 prompts of 'blind', 'rebirth', 'enemies', 'king', 'middles', 'not enough', 'found', 'fixed', and 'fire'. 100 words each, for a total of 900 words. 

The various titles match up to locations important to the legend of Joan of Arc: Domremy her birthplace, Chignon where she first met the Dauphin, Orléans where she fought to bring him to Reims to be crowned King, Paris where she lost spectacularly, Burgandy where she was taken captive, Rouen where she was tried and burned as a heretic. I also played with some false cognates between English & French. If you can spot the double meanings of these words, you get brownie points. :D

Again, concrit much appreciated.


	2. The Victorious

_the_

**V I C T O R I O U S**

**:i:**

I.

Serenity, for a slight of mind?

—he almost smiles.

Her body is splayed, violated by the trivialities of war—sweat, blood, grime, the like—but then in turn by those of victory—necrophilia, necrophobia, and their gratuitous mixing.

And what could it be to him?—there could have been no peace for her in victory but in this—

—_in_ _this_—

—in this?

What had he expected, for slight of mind over slight of hand?—peace is not serenity, for victor or invalid.

He smiles, now. Her only artifact is withdrawn from her hand, and with stilling fingers that, too, breaks.

II.

It had been a clean affair, a wand and a wave, just like magic: and there was death, kneeling and keeling until the floor had registered his fall with the sound of mute thunder.

Death is too simple an affair for the complex, and she can scarce abide it: affairs of state were anarchy, affairs of nature were entropy, and here, this?—

—death is not sin, but silence is, this silence _is_—

—a slump of shadows and the abyssal plain between here and her. She crosses the silence, and the deaf cross themselves.

_Snap_ is the sound of the song.

**:i:**

For the hp100 prompt of 'wands' and drabbles100 prompts of 'death' and 'deaf' respectively. 100 words each.


	3. Plural Possessive

P L U R A L

**P O S S E S S I V E**

**:i:**

I. **His**

A thing of bone for a creature of ice.

She touches it, caresses even, drawing her hands across the pale: long, lingering, a lover's upon the leper cold.

—but it had not always been cold, not as he had been. Bone once held the heat of life, the fire of power, and he had drawn this heat through him as sand through a sieve, and perhaps, if only for a moment, he may have been eased from the cold clarity of self.

She takes it into her hand with something like a smile, though the fire had long since ceased.

II. **Hers**

A thing of lines for a creature of curves.

His hands to it, tracing the long contours, warm and solid beneath the chilled, all change and chagrin—the propriety of reality!

And to unto, and to undo, he remembered. A thing of rules, true: but a creature of rules not graduated but changing at sudden cusps and twists that meant nothing differentiated but a lack of everything to all _but_ creatures of curves, watching, wondering…

Curves set to linear systems: to unto, and to undo, it was paltry approximation of what she might have been.

—but he preferred integration anyway.

**:i:**

For the hp100 prompt of 'wand' and the drabbles100 prompts of 'touch' and 'passing'. 100 words each, 200 total.

I was told that the second one is a bit opaque. I was playing around with calculus analogies, and it didn't work as well as I had hoped… so if it really, truly loses you, apologies. :P


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